


Mad with Love

by Doctor_Discord



Series: Trauma AU [2]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Bittersweet, Blood, Cute, Fluff and Angst, Insanity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:53:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24163150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctor_Discord/pseuds/Doctor_Discord
Summary: The Host may have lost his mind, but he still loves Dr. Iplier dearly. He just has an interesting way of showing it nowadays.
Relationships: The Host/Dr. Iplier
Series: Trauma AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1739428
Comments: 14
Kudos: 108





	Mad with Love

The Host was broken.

Only a few months after the Actor’s defeat, and it was clear there was no reversing what had been done to his mind. He had, in short, completely _lost it_ , comparable to Wilford in his madness. His abilities were haywire, he was constantly muttering, but not in the way he’d mumbled his narrations. This was fervent, _feverish_ , and when anyone got close to actually _hear_ what he was saying, they found it was utter _nonsense:_ garbled sentences and words he didn’t finish before moving onto the next entirely _different_ thought. They were still _narrations_ , but…they were broken. 

Like him.

A few things remained constant about him. Where if one focused on just those aspects, they could almost fool themselves as to thinking that nothing was amiss. The Host’s sockets still bled – with no stop to the flow and black ink mixed in now, but they bled. He still always wore his coat. He still _hated_ to go into public. He still enjoyed going on walks through the forest, though now King always tailed him, in fear he’d get lost or hurt himself.

And – most of all – he still _loved_ Dr. Iplier _so_ dearly.

He just…had an odd way of showing it now.

Before, the Host had been prone to writing poetry and praising Dr. Iplier with flowy words. Now, _nothing_ he wrote made sense. Hardly anything he _spoke_ made sense, especially now that he blended third and first person so seamlessly and disorientingly now. But he still spoke to Dr. Iplier. Ink dripping down his face, drooling from his mouth, tongue and teeth tinted black, he sat in Dr. Iplier’s office and rambled as Dr. Iplier changed his bandages, gave him the blood transfusion he now needed nearly hourly.

Dr. Iplier didn’t mind. The Host may be broken, but he was still the _Host_. Still the man who proposed. Still the man he married. And when he rambled to Dr. Iplier, his sentences were at least _whole_. They didn’t make a whole lot of sense, praising aspects of Dr. Iplier that weren’t true, or just straight up weren’t _possible_. Dr. Iplier knew the Host had lost all grip on which reality was which. He didn’t know where he stood in the many, _many_ universes anymore. And one he apparently frequently found was one where all the egos had wings. Praising how soft and beautiful Dr. Iplier’s feathers were, reaching out a hand as if he were petting a wing, shoulders shifting as he were moving his own.

Fundamentally, the Host was the same man he always was. Dr. Iplier wasn’t going to stop loving him just because he was a little… _cracked_ , upstairs. Dark loved Wilford, and Wilford was much the same as the Host was now. Dr. Iplier had no excuse to give up on the Host. And he wasn’t going to.

The Host still tried his best. All throughout their relationship, before the Actor, there had been a white rose as a running theme between them. A white rose was the first gift the Host had ever give Dr. Iplier, before they’d even entertained the idea of being together, before they’d even had _feelings_ for each other, back when the Author was still _becoming_ the Host. The Host had used one to ask Dr. Iplier out for the first time. The Host gave him one every Valentine’s Day. And a white rose of dozens of tiny diamonds had decorated the ring the Host had proposed with. It had always been there.

But now…Dr. Iplier got several different flowers, nearly every day. Various tulips, daffodils, irises, lilies, and of course, roses. All in a variety of colors. Each handed to him with the same shy, flustered, ink-stained smile. Dr. Iplier kept and dried and pressed every single one, keeping them in a scrap book in his desk. 

He glanced up from his desk when he heard his office door open. He smiled when he saw the Host walk in – no flower in sight, though his hands _were_ held behind his back. Everything was covered in blood and ink, and he left a trail of bloody droplets from the heavy flow. “Hello, my dear!” He stood from his desk, heading for the mini-fridge where he kept the Host’s transfusions, placing the bag on the cart that already held bandages, cotton balls, and disinfectant, and wheeling both it and the IV stand over to the bed. “How’re you feeling?”

The Host tilted his head, a little smile on his face, and obviously blanking on Dr. Iplier’s question as he sat on the bed. “The Host likes Dr. Iplier’s eyes. They look gold in the light.”

Dr. Iplier’s hands faltered for a moment as he set up the IV, but he smiled all the same, combing on hand through the Host’s long, shaggy hair once the IV was set up. “Thank you. Arm please?”

The Host obediently held out his arm, and Dr. Iplier pushed up his coat sleeve, inserting the IV and taping it in place. The Host still kept one hand behind his back, tilting his head the other way as ink slowly began to pool in the corner of his mouth. “Does Dr. Iplier know that _I_ know that he knows that he loves him? Wait, that’s not right…” The Host’s brow furrowed, looking seriously troubled as he stared at Dr. Iplier, ink now rolling down his chin. “…You love me, right? The Host – I – sometimes – there are realities where –” The blood flow from his sockets increased, bandages slipping down his nose. “You said that the Host was unfixable. That he wasn’t worth the effort. Is that…true?”

Dr. Iplier’s heart broke, and he cupped the Host’s face in both hands, uncaring of the blood and ink. “No, of course not! I don’t know what reality you got that from, but in _this_ one, right here, right now…I _love_ you. More than anything. And you are _always_ worth the effort of fixing.”

The Host smiled again, and Dr. Iplier could practically _see_ the remaining pieces of the Host’s mind sliding around, slotting where they shouldn’t, and he began his usual ramblings. This time it was about Dr. Iplier’s hair, how pretty it looked dyed navy blue, as Dr. Iplier changed his bandages as best he could with the constant blood flow. “You can hardly notice it without the light. It’s such a pretty color. So iridescent. Shiny. The Host is surprised Bim isn’t jealous. Dr. Iplier _did_ steal his style after all. Bim so loves his purple hair…”

Dr. Iplier snorted, but didn’t say anything. Bim has _never_ dyed his hair. As far as Dr. Iplier knew, he was adamantly _against_ the idea, lamenting how _badly_ bleach ruined hair. But the Host didn’t notice, just continued to talk and talk. “Frankly, I’m a little offended Dr. Iplier didn’t tell the Host. He could’ve made your life so much easier. Why go to a salon when the Host can just say a few words, and _poof!_ Your hair is blue!”

…Dr. Iplier made a mental note to check in a mirror when the Host was relatively cleaned up.

“I’m sorry, Host.” Dr. Iplier kissed his forehead. He knew by now it was best to just play along with the minor differences. “You know I would’ve told you. But _maybe_ I wanted to keep it a secret. I knew how much you’d like it.”

A blush spread across the Host’s face. “…Oh.” His smile brightened. He was moving his shoulders again, like he was flapping wings. “I have something for Dr. Iplier!”

Dr. Iplier raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Is it what you’ve been hiding behind your back this whole time?”

The Host snorted, and he drew his other hand around to the front. “ _No._ The Host has more tact than _that_. It’s on your desk.”

Dr. Iplier tilted his head, finishing tying off the Host’s bandages, and wandered back over to his desk. He gasped softly. It was…a white rose, lying across his messy paperwork. Mostly white, at least. Black dots speckled it. Dr. Iplier had a feeling it was ink. “Oh _Host_ …it’s _beautiful_. Thank you.”

The Host positively _beamed_ at him, bouncing where he sat like a child. “The Host made it himself! A bit tricky, but he did! The Host wanted to do something special. It’s Valentine’s Day, after all.”

Valentine’s Day wasn’t for another two weeks. But Dr. Iplier just moved back to the Host, carding his fingers through the Host’s long hair again. He pulled off his head mirror to check – yep, navy blue, just like the Host said. It _did_ look kind of nice, though. “We should go out for dinner tonight then. A date.”

The Host immediately recoiled, jerking away from Dr. Iplier’s touch. “ _No!_ Don’t leave, _can’t_ leave, too many bad things outside, home is safe, _please_ don’t leave!”

His voice was so _desperate_ and _broken_ , gripping onto Dr. Iplier’s sleeve so tightly, Dr. Iplier’s heart broke. “No, hey, it’s okay! It’s alright, we don’t have to go anywhere, we can stay right here, at home, sound good?”

The Host relaxed, resting his forehead against Dr. Iplier’s chest. “…I love you. I – no, the Host – the Author – _no_ , I – yes, _I_ love you.”

Dr. Iplier hummed softly, petting the Host’s hair, holding him close. “I love you, too.”

And he did. 

_They_ did. 

No matter how broken the Host was.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't be fooled, this AU gets _bad_.
> 
> Tumblr: doctordiscord123.tumblr.com


End file.
